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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253667">A Brewing Storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiDawn23/pseuds/ChibiDawn23'>ChibiDawn23</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 05:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiDawn23/pseuds/ChibiDawn23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A summer thunderstorm is no cause for alarm…and yet Phryne can't account for the strange feeling of foreboding that has suddenly come over her. She has no way of knowing that there's also a storm brewing at City South Police Station-Jack's being held hostage. Phryne/Jack; eventual twoshot.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phryne Fisher &amp; Jack Robinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>
    <strong>Disclaimer</strong>
  </span>
  <strong>: I don't own the characters; they belong to Kerry Greenwood, Deb Cox, and Fiona Eagger.</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>The night was stifling. Rain had been falling off and on all day, and the air in Melbourne was heavy and humid. A light breeze was coming in with the open windows, but did very little to ease the temperature inside City South Police Station. Inspector Jack Robinson sat at his desk, looking, by all accounts, very relaxed. His suit jacket lay folded over the back of his chair, and he'd rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie in an effort to cool off. A lock of hair stubbornly laid over his left eye, the small fan aimed at his desk trying its' best to chill the inspector as he pored over his paperwork.</p>
<p>"Need anything else, sir?"</p>
<p>Jack finished signing the report in front of him before glancing up at Constable Hugh Collins, his right-hand man. Hugh's jacket was unbuttoned, an infraction that Jack normally would have called him on, but things being as they were (and himself being in the state he was in), he chose to ignore it. After all-he checked his watch-it was nearly midnight. "Thought you'd gone already, Collins," Jack observed.</p>
<p>Hugh said nothing, and Jack knew that Hugh was still there for a couple of reasons. The first, that his date with Dot Williams had fallen through due to Dot being ill, and the second, that his chief constable wouldn't dare leave without Jack giving him the go-ahead. He felt bad that he had lost track of time and hadn't dismissed Collins earlier.</p>
<p>"Go on, then, Collins," Jack told him, stretching.</p>
<p>"You sure, sir?" Hugh asked him. He nodded to the sheaf of papers on his boss's desk. "I can help you finish that if you like."</p>
<p>The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. "Not unless you're going to forge my signature, Hugh. It's fine."</p>
<p>Hugh nodded. "All right then, if you're sure. Don't stay too late," he advised Jack.</p>
<p>This time, Jack did smile. "Much longer and it'll be <em>early</em> instead," he said dryly. "Good night, Collins."</p>
<p>Hugh nodded to him as he stepped out, a rush of hot air filling the room with the open door. The hot air made Jack feel more tired than he already was. <em>Just a few more</em>, he decided.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The honorable Phryne Fisher barely noticed the stifling heat outside, as she was also in relaxed dress: a cream slip and bare feet. She lay on her side, facing the open window. The breeze was almost nonexistent, but every now and then it would lift her black bangs off her forehead, ever so slightly.</p>
<p>A rumble of thunder interrupted her reading, and she set the book down on the duvet, frowning. A summer thunderstorm was no cause for alarm…and yet Phryne couldn't account for the strange feeling of foreboding that had suddenly come over her. She sat up, looking around the room. Everything in the room was in place. She was on the second floor, but she slid off the bed and walked over to the open window and looked out, well aware (and not caring) that she was on display to anyone who happened by. She saw no one on the street, nor in the houses across from her.</p>
<p>She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, turning back into the room. She reached for the robe draped over her dressing chair and slipped it on, making her way down the hall to Dot's room. Dorothy Williams, her assistant and friend, had been ill with a summer cold for a couple of days. Phryne assumed at this hour Dot would be in bed, and when she knocked on the door and got no answer, her assumption proved correct. Still, she pushed the door open and checked on her, just to be sure. Dot was under the covers despite the heat, snoring softly.</p>
<p>The pit in her stomach didn't ease, and Phryne closed Dot's door quietly, standing in the hall. Something didn't feel right. Mr. Butler was no doubt asleep, and Cec and Bert were probably at the pub, on their way out.</p>
<p>Everyone was accounted for, Phryne thought…<em>and so why do I still feel as though something is terribly wrong?</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Jack's pen clunked to the floor and he jolted awake. Blinking, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he realized he'd fallen asleep at his desk. He looked down at the paperwork still on his desk. The case had been a difficult one-a string of home invasions throughout the city. The perpetrators, one Oscar Abbott and one Lucille Brown, had been responsible for at least seven, resulting in thousands of dollars of theft and one assault that had left an elderly gentleman in the hospital after he'd stumbled on them mid-robbery. Jack and Hugh had been stymied, unable to find a pattern in the modus operandi, that is, until Phryne Fisher had come in and blown the case wide open. Lucille had been seen in the neighborhoods pushing a pram during the day, and the robberies had happened the same evening. Phryne had gotten Bert and Cec to float a rumor about some priceless jewelry at Phryne's home, and Jack and Hugh had set up a sting. The two thieves had made it all the way into Phryne's second-floor bedroom before Jack had cornered them. The resulting confrontation had resulted in the fatal shooting of Lucille Brown and the arrest of Oscar Abbott.</p>
<p>It was the discharge of a firearm that had Jack working on paperwork through all hours of the night. Abbott was in jail awaiting arraignment, and Lucille Brown was in the morgue awaiting any family to claim the body.</p>
<p>A rumble of thunder shook the building, and Jack leaned back in his chair. <em>I think that's a hint</em>, he decided. The rest of the report could wait until the morning. He stood up, turning to grab his jacket off the back of his chair.</p>
<p>When he turned around…he was no longer alone. Jack was suddenly wide awake. He stared down the barrel of a revolver, held steady in the hands of a young man with Lucille Brown's eyes. "Don't move," the boy, for he really couldn't have been more than fifteen, ordered Jack. "Take your gun and throw it on the floor."</p>
<p>Jack kept his left hand level with his waist, the right hand reaching for the pistol in his holster. He picked it out with two fingers and dropped it to the floor. "Kick it over here," the boy said. Jack toed the gun, sliding it over to him. The boy picked it up, now holding both of them in his hands. "Where are your handcuffs?" he asked Jack.</p>
<p>Jack said nothing, choosing to nod to the jacket in his hand. The boy stepped closer, not close enough for Jack to attempt to disarm him, but close enough that Jack knew if he'd made a wrong move, the boy wouldn't miss. "Take them out."</p>
<p>Jack slid a hand into his pocket, his eyes never leaving the boy. Thunder rumbled again outside. Jack pulled out his cuffs, awaiting the boy's next instructions.</p>
<p>The kid was smart, Jack noted. He had a steady hand, must have been waiting outside until he knew Jack was alone. His eyes flicked around the room, before settling on Hugh's chair across the way. "Sit down," the boy told him. "Throw me the cuffs." He set Jack's gun on the counter, and Jack lobbed the pair of cuffs over to him. He caught them deftly with his free hand. "Over here. Sit down!" he barked, when Jack paused halfway across the room. Jack complied, sitting down at Hugh's desk, wondering if Hugh had locked his firearm in his desk, or taken it home with him. He couldn't remember if Hugh had it on him when he'd gone home.</p>
<p>"Hands behind your back," the boy said. Jack threaded his hands between the slats on the back of the chair. The boy came around, stuck his gun in the waistband of his trousers and quickly cuffed Jack's hands to the back of the chair.</p>
<p>Apparently satisfied that Jack was going nowhere, the boy stepped in front of him and trained the gun on him once more.</p>
<p>"Can I help you?" Jack finally asked, keeping his voice light.</p>
<p>The boy's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You killed my mother," he informed Jack, confirming what he'd suspected. "And now I'm gonna kill you."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phryne couldn't sleep. She'd been trying for the last hour, off and on. Outside, sheet lightning backlit the clouds, the rumbles of thunder coming closer together now. Phryne stared at the ceiling, fingers tapping and curling the duvet unconsciously. Her book had long been abandoned, still resting on the pillow next to her.</p><p>Perhaps it was the string of home invasions that had her so on edge. <em>But we solved those</em>, she reminded herself, looking around the room, the very same room in which the crime spree had come to an end. In fact, she'd only been allowed to use it for its' intended purpose since that morning. The night before that, it had been a crime scene.</p><p><em>You may want to wait a night or two,</em> Jack's voice echoed in her mind.</p><p>She'd laughed it off. <em>Oh, really, Jack. Every other room in my home has been the scene of some disaster or another.</em></p><p>His tone had been serious, knowing. <em>Yes, but there's a bit of a difference between your kitchen…and your bedroom</em>.</p><p><em>And on that happy note</em>…Phryne got up, reached for her dressing gown and made a beeline for the stairwell. <em>Perhaps I'll find the couch more inviting.</em></p><p>She refused to admit that Jack may have been right.</p><p>A rumble of thunder shook the house, and she paused on the middle landing. She listened for rain, but didn't hear it.</p><p>Phryne sighed, and pivoted back upstairs. If Jack Robinson's usual pattern of behavior continued, he would be working late tonight.</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps now is the best time to admit that Jack was right. And a drive will clear my head.</em>
</p><p>"Lucille Brown was your mother?" Jack questioned the boy, watching him pace back and forth in front of him. It was clear the boy's plan had been executed as far as he'd had planned. Now that he had Jack where he wanted him, the young man didn't seem as though he knew what to do next.</p><p><em>And thank goodness for that</em>.</p><p>"Yeah," the boy said shortly, stopping in his pattern and turning to face Jack. "Yeah, she <em>was</em>."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Jack told him, and meant it. He never wanted to use deadly force unless circumstances warranted it.</p><p>"I bet you are." The boy aimed the gun at him again, and Jack sensed now was not a good time for conversation. He chose instead to focus on the handcuffs around his wrists, flexing to see if there was any give. He found a little, but not enough to wiggle them off.</p><p>"My mother was a good woman," the boy said, startling Jack. "We didn't have much, but she always made sure that we had what we needed. She didn't want me to go to work someplace…she wanted me to be a child. Me and my sister."</p><p><em>Lucille Brown had children</em>. They had been in the process of looking for next of kin; it had actually been the next thing on Jack's to-do list. He hated these times. Hated that good people were sometimes forced into bad things to survive.</p><p>"All she wanted was for me and my sister to have a good life. She wasn't a bad person!"</p><p>Jack believed it. By all accounts she had merely been the scout, the decoy, the lookout. Oscar Abbott had done the dirty work.</p><p>The boy waved the gun in Jack's face. "All she wanted was for us to never go without. And now she's <em>dead</em> and it's <em>your</em> fault!" He cocked the gun and Jack tensed.</p><p>"The Inspector is not responsible for your mother's death," a voice interrupted, punctuated by a crack of thunder.</p><p>Jack and the boy both started at the new arrival, Jack's eyes going wide.</p><p>Phryne Fisher stood in the doorway, one hand on her gold-plated pistol. "Working late, Jack?" she asked him.</p><p>Jack shrugged the best he could with his hands cuffed behind him. "Had a few last-minute things to take care of," he said. "What brings you down at this hour of the night?" The interplay between the two appeared to be confusing the hell out of the young hostage taker, who was watching the banter in disbelief.</p><p><em>But then that is what Phryne Fisher does</em>, Jack thought, <em>takes command of the room.</em> And, he admitted, he was not entirely unhappy to see her.</p><p>"A bit of humble pie on my part," Phryne admitted, "and you're the cause of it."</p><p>Jack nodded. "Ah. Perhaps we could deal with the present situation?" he suggested, nodding to the boy.</p><p>Phryne turned to the young man with the gun, her own pistol now trained on him. "I suppose. Priorities," she agreed. "What's the meaning of this, then?" She grinned. "Can't say I haven't thought about putting the Inspector in handcuffs myself," she said, sultry. "Though I imagined circumstances much differently."</p><p>"Phryne." Jack rolled his eyes (although he wasn't entirely put off by the idea).</p><p>"Shut it!" The outburst came from the boy, who moved his pistol from Jack to Phryne. "You. Go stand over there," he ordered her.</p><p>Phryne arched an eyebrow, and to Jack's surprise, complied. She kept on eye on the young man as she moved to stand by Jack, placing one hand on the back of his chair in a reassuring fashion. "You're in charge," she reminded the boy. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on here?"</p><p>"He killed my mum," the boy told Phryne.</p><p>Phryne glanced down at Jack. "This is Lucille Brown's son?" she clarified, and Jack nodded. She looked at the boy. "The inspector had been looking for you," she told him.</p><p>"Why, so he can go ahead and kill me too?"</p><p>"Jack doesn't just go around killing people without cause," Phryne snapped. "Although kidnapping a policeman would certainly be cause." Her tone softened. "Perhaps you should put that gun away," she suggested. To Jack's surprise, Phryne set her own down on Hugh's desk. "Let's discuss this."</p><p>"There's nothing to discuss. He killed my mother." But the arrogance was gone in the boy's tone, perhaps disarmed by Phryne's tone and the fact that she'd put her gun away.</p><p>"I don't think you believe that," Phryne said. "I think you're sad, and scared, and you need someone to blame."</p><p>The was a crack of thunder, and through the open windows, a cloudburst of rain.</p><p>Jack took over. Comforting children was not Phryne's strong suit; she did much better with adults. "I can tell your mother cared for you," Jack told Milo. "She wouldn't have made the choices she did for any other reason. And they may have been bad choices but…she made them for you. And your sister."</p><p>Phryne raised an eyebrow. She hadn't been there for that part of the conversation.</p><p>Jack stood up now, his hands free thanks to Phryne's spare lock pick, but kept his hands level, placating. "I didn't shoot your mother that night, Milo. Oscar did."</p><p>He looked at Phryne, then to Milo. The boy's face faltered. "Your mother was ready to confess to everything. She didn't hurt anyone, Milo. She took what they were stealing and sold it, so you and your sister could eat. She wanted to make the <em>right</em> choice."</p><p>Jack took a step toward the boy. Milo's hands were shaking. "She was going to turn herself in, and Oscar shot her." He took another step forward, well aware that Phryne was close enough to her pistol and probably a quicker shot. "We tried to help her."</p><p>"Let him help <em>you</em> now, Milo," Phryne urged him. "If you go to prison, there will be no one to look after your sister."</p><p>Milo was crying now. "It's too late," he sobbed. "I've already made a mess of things."</p><p>Jack slipped forward, took the gun from his hands and handed it to Phryne. To his shock, Milo wrapped his arms around Jack and sobbed into his shirt. Jack glanced helplessly over his shoulder at Phryne, who only gave him half a smile. "No," Jack assured him. "You haven't done anything of the sort."</p><hr/><p>Jack and Phryne watched from the car as Milo darted out in a light drizzle, knocking softly on the door of the small house. The door opened and a little girl with dark hair threw her arms around him. Milo hugged her, looked back at the patrol car, and gave the two adults a wave.</p><p>"Are you going to press charges?" Phryne asked Jack as they drove off.</p><p>Jack kept his eyes on the road as he answered, "For what? Milo and I only had a late-night conversation, that's all."</p><p>"I see." Phryne nodded thoughtfully. The two drove in silence for awhile.</p><p>Jack glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Exactly, why, Miss Fisher, were you at the station this evening? I seem to recall something about 'humble pie?'"</p><p>"Oh. That." Phryne shrugged. "You were right. I couldn't sleep."</p><p>Jack nodded. "I'm not sorry I was right. Do you think you'll be able to now?" He pulled up in front of City South. Phryne's beloved Hispano-Suiza was parked on the side street, plastic covering the upholstery.</p><p>Phryne stepped out of the police car, then paused. "Oh, I imagine I'll have better dreams from here on out," she replied, and tossed Jack's handcuffs at him before closing the door with a smile.</p><p>Jack shook his head, and turned toward home. The skies were clear; the storm had moved on.</p>
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